


A Fool's Errand

by aurics



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cliche, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Neighbors, There's so much of Seungcheol's thoughts in this that I'm tempted to say it's half a character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-19 11:36:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11896935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurics/pseuds/aurics
Summary: Seungcheol takes the long way home to bring back the colour in his otherwise shabby life, and it has everything to do with the singer who always keeps his windows open.





	A Fool's Errand

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _"I was walking past your house, you had your door open and I heard you singing in your room and now whenever I pass by I think about you."_
> 
> When that LA episode of my friend's hometown was released, I was so shaken by the amount of cheolsoo in it that I whined about them alone for days and then brute-force wrote this [clenches fists] I love cheolsoo... so much... 
> 
> This should have been finished ages ago but real life got in the way as usual. Enjoy!

A sip of his coffee gets Seungcheol grimacing in distaste. He'd asked specifically for a black,  _ thank you _ , but his early-morning English must be even worse than he thought if he can’t even spell out a request as simple as ‘no sugar’. Scientific terms, Seungcheol can grasp in a heartbeat. Coffee shop orders, though? Not so much. They consume about half of his brainpower, which is exactly the amount he has available at—he glances at his watch—7:12am. 

It hasn’t been easy, moving to one of the biggest, busiest and most populous cities in the world from his modest hometown in Korea.

At the moment, all Seungcheol has going for him are his Master’s degree, his scholarship and the budget-friendly café he frequents thanks to their early opening times. Not a bad predicament overall, but not exactly the ideal situation either. Turns out London isn’t full of the charm and comfort he was convinced he'd find—but he’s made do for now, so it leaves him with little reason to complain.

It’s the first day of reading week, and while he’d fully intended to sleep the entire morning away Seungcheol finds that his body’s been programmed to clock in, at most, 4 hours of sleep. He didn’t appreciate waking up at half-past six this morning when he could sleep in until half-past six in the  _ evening _ , but it was like his hands and feet had a mind of their own when they tied up his laces and pulled on his coat—and before he could even stifle back a yawn he found himself outside in the frosty morning.

Now he’s left roaming the sparse streets of South Kensington wondering how in the hell he’s going to survive being sleep-deprived for the rest of his life.

He turns right on instinct, and upon realising where he is lets an easy smile settle on his face. Despite being the longer, more winded path back to the graduate student accommodation, Seungcheol often finds himself taking it on slower days. It’s his favourite part of the area—a street lined with row houses of the classic brown-brick walls, every door painted a pristine white and jet-black, metal fences separating the small front gardens from the pavement.

Seungcheol’s always thought they looked straight out a movie, and he often wonders what kind of people lived in such houses. Businessmen, probably, with their designer top hats and fancy cigars; or the children of wealthy families who come to London during the holidays to empty their bank accounts at famous bars and shops along Oxford Street; maybe even retired actors or actresses, looking for a quiet but not isolated dwelling. It’s an odd sense of reprieve from his stifling scheduled days to ponder over scenarios like this, to explore the lives of imaginary people without repercussions.

So lost is Seungcheol in his musings that he nearly drops his drink when a something cuts through his daydream. A song, specifically—sounding like it's coming from a speaker halfway turned up to maximum volume. He looks over his shoulder to find absolutely no one behind him, and peers around only to be met with deserted sidewalks, the doors of every house still bolted shut to keep waking hours at bay for as long as possible. So where’s the sound coming from?

Only at second glance does Seungcheol realise the ground floor window of the house to his right is thrown open, a thin set of curtains swaying slightly in the chilly morning breeze. From it, a song is filters out, an English song Seungcheol swears he’s heard only a thousand times before but can’t recall the title of. But it’s not the song that has Seungcheol slowing down to a stop right in front of the window.

It’s the singing.

Any other voice would have raised complaints this early in the morning, but it’s clear why the world chooses to leave the singer alone – it would be a sin to put a stop on such refined art, the soft trills of each suspended note filling the morning air like a fresh gust of wind, every heavy syllable warm like a mug of tea, but also soothing like dewdrops on window panes. Even when the singer is straining to reach a high note they somehow manage to make it sound  _ good, _ like it’s a deliberate variation in the performance rather than a shortcoming.

Now, the normal thing to do would be to ignore the singing, to continue on his walk and go about his day completely unaffected by an occurrence that should seem totally mundane in the eyes of a passerby. This is London, after all, and people get up to all sorts of things in the small hours of daybreak

But of course Seungcheol does exactly none of those things, because—as he previously mentioned—his body and mind obstinately operate on different planes of reality. It’s in a hypnotised manner that Seungcheol finds himself drawn to the voice, his feet carrying him closer to the fence against his own will, though he isn’t really complaining so can it still be considered _ against his will _ at this point—

As suddenly as the singing had first caught his attention, the window blinds are pulled open and a boy pokes his head out, eyes wide with surprise at the sight of an unexpected visitor.

And  _ god _ , neither his eyes nor his voice is even the end of it—Seungcheol doesn’t know where to look. His immaculate hair? His mouth that’s hanging open, framed by thin lips that lilt upwards at the ends like a cat’s? His skin that’s glowing under the soft afternoon light? Everything feels awfully like a cliché from a fairytale, Seungcheol being a prince lost in the woods only to find himself entranced by a princess. Except Seungcheol looks more akin to a homeless retiree than a prince, and the singer is definitely not a princess – just a very, very,  _ very _ attractive man.

"Good morning. Can I help you?"

Seungcheol blinks. Truth be told, he’s asking himself the exact same thing. How can he be helped, exactly?  _ No, you can’t, not really, thanks for the offer, _ Seungcheol is tempted to say, but something suddenly clicks in his mind and what comes out instead is, "Was that a Stevie Wonders song?"

The question must have surprised the boy as much as Seungcheol himself, because his eyebrows lift up and his eyes widen ever so slightly. "Yes! Yes, it is."

"Oh, nice," is Seungcheol’s absolutely stupid reply, because what limited intelligence his brain is able to supply on this stupid-o’clock has abruptly been drained out of him, leaving behind a wordless, useless cavity in its wake. "It sounds nice."

He’s usually a smooth man, Seungcheol swears he is. But on this particular morning, faced by this particular man, he decides it’s best to turn around and leave at the risk of staring any longer, spewing out more shit and being branded a right creep.

That doesn’t stop his heart from running a mile a minute and his ears ringing with a melody he can’t get off his mind.

 

 

*

 

 

Over the next several days Seungcheol creates a routine for himself:

_ Step one. _ A few minutes past seven in the morning, he'll stroll down the street at a normal pace. Take in the sight of the sky that’s more often than not overcast, breathe in the fresh air. Normal things adults do on a morning walk.

_ Step two _ . He’ll slow down in front of house 9. At this distance, Seungcheol can already pick up the voice that never fails to bring a smile to his face. Naturally, this is a temptation for him to pick up pace, but Seungcheol always has enough self-control to savour the moment instead.

_ Step three _ . Once the voice seems to be only a stone’s throw away (literally), it is imperative to pass by house number 10 especially slowly. Barely at a crawl’s speed. Even better yet is if the curtains are drawn slightly closer together, then Seungcheol will deem it safe enough to stop and listen to the (otherwise elusive) tenant of the house singing softly, mellow renditions of various pop songs Seungcheol knows should really be more upbeat. But the singer makes the toned-down versions work somehow.

Being a creature of habit, Seungcheol finds this routine easy to follow, and is content with the arrangement as long as he comes back from his morning walk grinning, a new song stuck in his head for the rest of the day.

But on Tuesday morning, the boy with the pretty eyes pokes his head out for the second time since they’ve (sort of) met and asks, before Seungcheol can fully grasp the situation, in Korean: "Do you live around here?"

Surprisingly, this time Seungcheol doesn’t feel like bolting off. He feels relaxed and the usually unbearably loud pounding in his heart is understated today, almost mute. Maybe it’s the adequate amount of sleep Seungcheol’s been getting playing tricks on his mind, forging a mirage of the confidence and self-assurance he prided on back in freshman year of college. Or (the more likely option) that the chance to slip back into his native tongue is one less burden to shoulder and Seungcheol can breathe a little easier now.

"Not awfully close. Two tube stations away." Seungcheol realises how fucking creepy that must sound— _ a badly-dressed man overdosing on coffee walking past a dashingly handsome young singer's door in one of the most expensive neighbours in London every morning? Totally normal!— _ and tries to backtrack desperately. "Um—but I only pass by in the mornings on my jog," he says, despite his jeans, padded coat and coffee suggesting anything  _ but _ a morning jog. "I mean, I like this area a lot, and you know it’s… always a good idea to exercise. In the morning."

"Right," laughs the boy because it’s obvious he doesn’t buy into Seungcheol’s explanation one bit. His eyes crinkle into the prettiest curves Seungcheol’s ever seen in his life, sweeping up at the corners like permanent eyeliner, and Seungcheol feels a chunk of his heart being handed over to this boy. "I’m Hong Jisoo, by the way."

"Seungcheol. Choi Seungcheol."

"Seungcheol." There’s something about the way he says the L in Seungcheol’s name that makes the morning suddenly very, very warm.

"How’d you know I was Korean?"

The boy grins, and Seungcheol didn’t even realise it was possible for someone’s laugh to sound like soft wind chimes – even when they let out a little  _ snort _ . "I sang Sung Si Kyung’s  _ Reality _ yesterday and you were mouthing along to the lyrics at one point, so I decided to try my luck."

Seungcheol didn’t realise he was, in turn, being watched, always assuming the drawn curtains concealed him just as it concealed Jisoo on the other side. If only the ground would open up and drag him down to the pits of hell, it would be easier than having to cover up for the obvious eavesdropping he’s done—but Jisoo doesn’t seem at all pertrubed by this fact, merely finds it amusing.

(Seungcheol  _ does _ remember that ballad. A usually dreary Monday morning made sunny and bright by a voice he can put a face to, but no name. How something as impressive as Jisoo’s repertoire of songs featuring more than one language has slipped his mind, Seungcheol has no idea.)

"Well, guess your luck didn’t let you down, you’ve got a whole Daegu man right here," Seungcheol tries to match Jisoo’s breeziness but immediately winces because  _ God _ , if that doesn’t sound like the greasiest pick-up line.

Thankfully, Jisoo doesn’t comment on the subpar choice of words and instead perks up, leaning further out of his window. "Oh, Daegu. I’ve never been there. My hometown’s in Los Angeles, so I don’t get to visit Korea very often."

"LA? So when did you move here?"

Jisoo tilts his head up a little in thought, and the act reminds Seungcheol so much of a cat. "Two years ago? Right after I finished university in the States, I came here for an internship and was eventually hired for a permanent position."

This piece of fact is intriguing to Seungcheol, and explains Jisoo’s accent. And maybe Seungcheol should be mildly alarmed at how easily Jisoo is disclosing such information, considering he’s still ambling around on the pavement outside the fence and Jisoo is half-perched on the window, but it only serves as further relaxant. Jisoo  _ trusts _ him, and sounds like he genuinely wants to make conversation with Seungcheol.

"And you? Have you been here for long?"

"Ah—no, only a couple of months, actually." Seungcheol isn’t usually one to go in detail about his own life, but there’s something about Jisoo that compels him to  _ elaborate _ . "Worked for a while in Korea after graduating, but I didn’t want to stop studying just yet. Tried for a few scholarships and got lucky—now I’m doing my master’s on Health Education."

"Wow, that’s really cool. Where—"

There’s a loud beep that interrupts Jisoo mid-sentence and has him ducking out of view for a while, much to Seungcheol’s confusion. He considers leaving, trying not to feel dejected at the abrupt end to their conversation—but then Jisoo pops up again, this time with an apologetic expression.

"Sorry about that—I’m afraid I have to go now, one of my co-workers—"

"Oh, yeah, of course," Seungcheol quickly reassures, suddenly realising his position. He takes a step back away from the fence, ignoring the loss of warmth that comes with it (which is ridiculous. Fences don’t emit any sort of heat). "I’m not even supposed to, you know, loiter—"

"That’s nothing to be sorry about, please, you’re not loitering. But," Jisoo smiles, the curve of his mouth still kind but the twinkle in his eye is full of intent. "Just wanted to let you know that I do take requests."

"I—" It’s a little embarrassing how amazed he is by the fact that Jisoo is still there,  _ waiting _ for him to reply. "I’ll keep that in mind."

 

 

*

 

 

Over the next few visits, Seungcheol finds out that Jisoo’s landlord is never home, which explains his constant singing, but he doesn’t know much about his neighbours, which doesn’t explain the lack of complaints. They gradually engage in longer conversations—long enough for Seungcheol to know that he isn’t a disincentive to Jisoo’s singing and that the interest is, at least somewhat, reciprocated. Maybe it’s not the same kind of interest (Seungcheol doesn’t want to jump the gun yet), but it is interest, nonetheless.

"I got these cacti from a street market yesterday. They look good on the windowsill, right?" Jisoo mentions one morning, holding up two pots with a small bulb of green, spiky plant in each. Personally, Seungcheol can’t see the appeal in a bunch of prickly plants that barely need any watering, but Jisoo could be showing him a piece of concrete and Seungcheol would humour him.

"Would probably look better with other potted plants," Seungcheol calls back whilst keeping his voice at an acceptable volume, leaning against the cool surface of the fence. "It’ll add colour to the display. Your windowsill’s too white."

Although it’s a little early in the game to gauge whether his advice would be welcome or not, Seungcheol goes for it anyway—and is rewarded handsomely with a thoughtful-looking Jisoo and a million-watt smile right after. "Should I get flowers or other succulents?"

_ Easy _ . That’s the first word that comes to mind whenever he thinks of Jisoo. Not in the bad sense, not at all – but  _ easy _ in the way that Seungcheol's heart doesn't feel like it's about to give out under the weight of nerves when they converse.  _ Effortless _ , the way Jisoo makes him forget about his aching feet as they fall into natural conversation, talking about Jisoo’s job at an indie record label that is always keeping him on his toes (figuratively) and Seungcheol’s course that is always keeping him on his toes (literally), and the way Jisoo makes it seem like they’ve known each other for years instead of a few days.

"I’m glad I met you," Seungcheol blurts out after a particularly long conversation, just as Jisoo makes to leave his windowsill to get on with his daily life as per usual. They’ve been talking long enough for the weather to stop biting at Seungcheol’s skin so much, which is saying something considering it’s mid-November.

Upon the curious look he’s given, Seungcheol elaborates as best as he can. "There aren’t any Koreans enrolled in my course, and the Korean association at my uni isn’t the most active so it’s been kind of hard trying to find someone that would make home feel a little closer, so…" He’s not sure if he’s being too  _ much _ about whatever acquaintanceship they’ve forged in such a brief span of time, but Seungcheol just wants to be honest.

It pays off. "I know, I’m irresistible," Jisoo flicks the fringe out of his eyes, playing up to Seungcheol’s laughter by casting him an awful attempt at a sultry look. "It’s hard keeping my large audience with diverse tastes interested, you have no idea."

After letting Seungcheol laugh for a good minute, Jisoo switches back to his sunny smile. "We should hang out sometime, you know. I can introduce you to my friends—I know you’ll all get along just great." And Seungcheol thinks that’s the end of Jisoo’s response, only to be surprised when he continues, "I’m glad I met you too, Seungcheol."

_ Uncomplicated _ , the way Seungcheol arrives at the conclusion that  _ yes _ , he really does like this boy, seraphic voice and all.

 

 

*

 

 

While keeping an eye out for his coffee order, Seungcheol decides no great figures in history ever stood by and waited for change to come around –  _ they _ made those changes happen through alterations of the norm, big or small, and this thought is what pumps a sudden surge of courage through his veins as he makes his way back to the cashier.

"Excuse me," he says slowly, pulling out his wallet again. "Can I have another one to take away?"

That’s how he finds himself walking briskly to his accommodation with two cups of coffee in his hands on a Sunday morning, the last day of his week off, taking the longer, more winded path once more like it’s second nature to him by now and thinking he’s a right fool for comparing his pathetic crush to significant historical events. A slew of scenarios flit past his mind as he tries his hardest not to spill the drinks in his haste, already rehearsing the lines he’d say when he knocks on Jisoo’s door and waits for the inevitable smile he’d grown to love seeing every morning.

What he doesn’t expect to see is Jisoo standing outside on his porch, dressed in a soft blue coat that brings out the pink in his cheeks – and, subsequently, to Seungcheol’s cheeks as well. When he hears Seungcheol coming up the road he looks up and smiles, blinding even when his hair fall into his eyes. He hops down the few steps onto the pavement while pocketing his phone and Seungcheol tries not to get too giddy about Jisoo making it painfully obvious that Seungcheol has his full, undivided attention.

"Morning," greets Jisoo in a sing-song voice, and Seungcheol wonders if he could ever sound unpleasant, ever. Maybe not even when he has a sore throat.

"Morning." It takes every modicum of self-restraint for Seungcheol not to sound breathless—he figures it’s not a good look to let on just how  _ smitten _ he is before he’s even saved Jisoo’s number. "This is new."

What Seungcheol means is the fact that Jisoo is actually out of his house for once, of course—like this, finally standing and facing each other on level ground, Seungcheol realises they’re similar in height, and he doesn’t have to crane his neck up to look at Jisoo at all. But the meaning must have been lost to the other boy because he peeks down at his pale blue coat, expression nonplussed.

"What? This old thing? It’s actually out of trend, I think."

"No, no," waves Seungcheol hurriedly. "I mean,  _ this _ , you know. You being outside, and all."

"Oh." A laugh escapes Jisoo. "I need to get some groceries a little earlier since I’ve got to oversee a weekend show later in the evening. Might seem  _ really hard _ to believe, but I  _ do _ get out of my house every now and then you know—"

"Not the implication I was going for," groans Seungcheol as Jisoo steps closer to grab at his sleeve and throw his head back in laughter, the movement so natural Seungcheol doesn’t even give it a second glance, only acknowledging the slightly quickening pace of his heartbeat.

"I’m just messing with you," reassures Jisoo as the last of his laugh trickle out. His eyes drop to the coffee cups in Seungcheol’s hands and an eyebrow quirks in interest. "Is that for me?"

(It should be ridiculous, how comfortable they are with one another already, but Seungcheol honestly wouldn’t have it any other way.)

"Yeah. I didn’t know what you liked, but it’s an Americano. I got extra packets of sugar, though, just in case."

"My hero," Jisoo jokes, taking the cup and two packets of sugar with a thankful look in his eyes. For a second, Seungcheol feels absolutely invincible again, just as he has in the coffee shop when he’d ordered another Americano to-go—so he capitalises on this narrow window of adrenaline and asks, with as much composure as he can muster:

“I have a request."

The edges of Jisoo’s lips lilt up even further, and something tells Seungcheol he’s already in on the plan. “Yeah? Name it."

“Do you want to get dinner tomorrow night with me?"

Breaking out into laughter isn’t exactly the reaction Seungcheol was hoping to elicit out of Jisoo, but there’s more fondness in it than anything else, so he settles for a confident smile in return.  _ Peaceful, easy. _

“Dinner already? Not even for a cup of coffee first?"

Seungcheol scratches the back of his head. “Figured I’ve already brought the coffee over to you. And I've got classes tomorrow, so I won't get off until dinner-time—"

“Say no more, it's a fair argument,” Jisoo grins, sipping at his drink. “Sure, Seungcheol. I’d love to.”

 

 

*

 

 

(Seungcheol discovers that Jisoo sounds beautiful even when he’s doing nothing more than talking, and he thinks he might be just a tiny, tiny bit in love.) 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is slightly different to my usual (preferred) writing style because there's _a lot_ of description + background thoughts (Seungcheol is a fun character to write) especially in the beginning. Feel free to let me know what you think of it! ♥ 
> 
> Please scream @ me about cheolsoo, my guilty pleasure boyfriends,


End file.
